


Forever Feels Like Home

by Trialia



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 02:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trialia/pseuds/Trialia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title: Forever Feels Like Home (The View on a Clear Day Remix)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Forever Feels Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Forever Feels Like Home (The View on a Clear Day Remix)

Title: Forever Feels Like Home (The View on a Clear Day Remix)

Author: Trialia

Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003)

Rating: M

Word Count: 2739

Character(s)/Pairing(s): Laura Roslin/Bill Adama

Beta: Flamingo55 and Opal (oparu) :)

Spoilers: A Disquiet Follows My Soul

Summary: _It's life, this feeling. The good parts. What she wants._

Author Notes: Remix of The View on a Clear Day by Zaleti for bsg_remix (link can be found on my LJ). Title from Stone Sour's "Through Glass". Many thanks to all involved for the opportunity to remix - it's been intimidating, but fun!

-

It's been a long day. Too long but, at the same time, not long enough.

She feels good. Better than she has in a long time. Hot, sweaty and damp everywhere. The metal of the hatch to her borrowed quarters quickly loses its coolness where it contacts her body, at the little strip of skin between her sweater and pants, as she leans back against it.

She's out of shape. She can feel the muscles in her legs and back ache with the strain of her run, but it's a good ache, not like the sick, frozen stiff sensation that the Diloxin spreads through her. She looks at herself in the mirror and sees the flushed face that Bill mentioned to her in the hallway. Smiling, thinking of how she'd kissed him in front of everyone, Laura wonders if anyone was looking.

He needs her. She'd known that was his confession when he spoke, whatever pronoun he'd used; to someone who knows Bill Adama well, his eyes are an open book.

She wants more of this feeling, a soreness she can appreciate and relish and a heat in her cheeks that's there for a good reason.

He'll come soon, she knows. She knows he doesn't believe her when she says she's going back for treatment, and truth is, maybe he's right to think that. She knows if he could make her go he'd do it, order her, anything to get more time with her.

She doesn't want to go back there. Doesn't want to die like her mother, shrinking, atrophied and poisoned by the very thing supposed to help her.

She doesn't want to give him up; doesn't want to give up on life and leave him, but some things... well. He wants her to go for treatment. She knows that.

Why does what she wants matter so much to her now, when it so rarely has before?

Maybe the break from being President Roslin has let Laura out into the light again, let her see what she'd been blinded to before. It can't be a bad thing that she's seeing things clearly, for the first time in months. Maybe years.

He'll be drowning his sorrows now, she's sure, his own heavy burdens reflected in the dregs of a glass of whatever he can get. He's stopped caring about getting the good stuff. She didn't notice before, buried in her own dilemma, but now she has, she can see him in her mind's eye, him and the way he's been trying to hide things, just like her.

Unlike her, and thanks to the way he's made himself the figurehead of the military arm of the fleet - though yes, she admits, she may have had something to do with that - he can't take a day or two to lie on the floor and cry. She wonders, idly, if he's ever done that, apart from that one time she's seen. She wants him to see the situation from her side, to make him realise that she can't go on living like this, dying by inches and unable to enjoy what life she has left.

The cancer can eat the rest of her, so long as she can enjoy what life she has left instead of lying in a hospital-cold white bed dying like a drained, dessicated weakling, unable to run or to frak or even to sit up. She's almost decided.

It can't go on this way. Something's got to give.

She drops her glasses on the table beside her rack, heading for the shower to climb into it fully clothed, letting the tepid water pour down on her and soak through her scarf, through her sweater and pants and everything underneath, dripping from the ends of her fingers as she leans against the glass and holds up her arms to let it run under them.

The wet fabric of her bra rubs against her nipples as she moves, and she moans a little, letting her eyes fall shut and thinking of Bill, her lips against his so briefly, the skin of his hands soft against her shoulders despite the solidity of the touch, holding her in place. He hadn't kissed her back, but it didn't matter when she knew that he'd wanted to.

She lowers her face and breathes deeply, letting the water hit the back of her neck as she discards all her drenched clothes, piling them heavily into a heap on the floor. The spray drips down the curve of her spine, rinsing away the sweat and dirt from her skin, making her arch against the sensation of its weight against the small of her back.

She rests one foot on the low seat in the shower, kneading her hand over her sore thigh muscles in that leg, running her palm lightly down the inside in an almost stroking motion, leaning forward and smiling.

It's life, this feeling. The good parts. What she wants.

She leans back, scrubbing a hand through the light, thin fuzz on her scalp, and reaches up to turn off the water. Sighing, she steps out, towelling herself slowly, letting her hands linger as they move across her body. The shower's taken the edge off the mood she's been in all day, and while she still feels good, it's a relaxed feeling now.

She dresses at a leisurely pace, not intending to go out again this evening. She has a hope, and perhaps it will be met; 'wait and see' is her watchword for the time being.

She lies on the rack for a while after, stretched out to indulge the relaxation of her body, burning candles that give the room a faint glow that flatters its harsh lines and cold colours. She's hoping it flatters her, too, knowing how thin she's become.

She hums softly in her throat as she thinks about him and slowly, quietly, she falls asleep, more relaxed than she's felt in a long, long time.

The candles are almost burned down when she wakes to the sound of the hatch opening.

There's only one person in the fleet who ever walks in on her without knocking. She smiles with her eyes closed, turning on her side to face the edge of the rack.

He speaks her name softly, close by, and she opens her eyes to look up at him. His face is serious - it always has been rare of him to let his feelings show easily in its lines - but his eyes seem strangely calm. She wonders if she might be imagining that sight, vision blurred by her lack of glasses, but thinks not.

"Hi," she replies quietly, getting up to meet him. His eyes sweep along her semi-clad form from head to foot, and she feels heat rise, with the return of the anticipation that had left her. It's not unwelcome.

He smiles, an edge of sadness colouring his tired expression, and takes her hands in his. Unresisting, she allows him to bring them to his shoulders as he wraps her in a gentle hug.

"Been thinking about what you said," he says, breath warm on the skin behind her ear. She shivers a little.

"Mm-hm?" Her arms slide around his chest, and she lets her head fall against his shoulder.

"About living," he pauses. His voice is a soft rumble she can feel beneath her skin, arousing and comforting, smoothing at the edge of her restlessness. "About tomorrow."

She smiles into his neck. "And what were you thinking, about tomorrow?"

He eases her away from his body a little and looks into her face, love and sadness dominating his eyes. His fingertips caress her cheek as he brings his hand up and, as every time before, she melts on feeling how soft his hands are against her skin.

"That it needs you in it," he confesses. "That I... that I need it to have you in it." He kisses her briefly, a clear mirror of her gesture from earlier that day. She can see a hint of fear in his look when he pulls back. "Please, Laura..."

She doesn't want to argue, cutting him off with her lips before he can complete the sentence. She loves him, but she knows what he will say. She's already made her decision: she wants this to be on her terms and no-one else's. Not even his. She lets the kiss last a little longer, sweeping her tongue gently over his lower lip as she disengages and replaces her mouth with her finger.

"Tomorrow," she whispers, lying with her eyes to comfort him. His grip on her arm tightens just a fraction, and he doesn't say a word, simply gazing into her face as though trying to read and understand her. She gazes right back at him, drowning in the blue of his eyes with a sigh.

"Stay with me?"

She doesn't have to ask, she knows, but she wants it to be spoken, wants to voice what they both know is at stake here, to loose the ties that have been driving this nervous tension.

He waits for just a moment, and she can see his eyes darken at the idea of what they might be about to do. When he lets go, she can see that, too.

He pulls her back, fastening his mouth to hers. She gasps at the gentleness of it, touched to the heart, before letting herself fall into him. His hands are warm against her waist, slipping under her tank; his uniform rough against the skin of her hands and arms as she begins to unfasten his jacket. She pulls at it roughly, sending a button flying and laughing as she does, delighted by his answering grin.

She shudders in pleasure at the feel of his fingers sweeping over her bare scalp, burying her hands in his hair to pull him harder against her, and kissing him back as fiercely as he's kissing her. The stroke of his tongue against hers makes her moan, provoking a rough murmur from the back of his throat that she can feel vibrate against her. Her body warms further with the pleasure of still feeling desired in her present state of health.

He groans again when she tugs his lower lip between her teeth as she pulls away from him. She smiles wickedly as she pulls her tank top over her head, hearing and enjoying the catch in his breath as he sees her revealed from beneath the fabric.

It surprises her, sometimes, that he reacts the same way every time they're together like this, just as affected by her as he was the first time they made love. She fights off the stab of emotion that tells her they probably won't have enough time together for them both to get truly used to it, and lets herself be caught up in the sexual tension thickening the air around them. She could almost swear that it's hotter in the cabin than it was before he came here to her.

His boxers hit the floor, and she grins, registering the return of the same lightheaded feeling she's had all day. It's glorious, euphoric delight and she loves it, loves him for helping her feel this way.

With a sudden impulse, she hops onto the rack like a five-year-old, not bothering even to push the covers aside, and casts him a mischievous glance. "Come get me, soldier," she purrs.

He laughs and does as he's told, climbing into the rack and pinning her down with his weight until she squirms and giggles beneath him, breathless. His smile is beautiful.

"Got you," he says, softly, letting her up a little as he removes his glasses and drops them down somewhere - where, she doesn't see, and right now, she doesn't care, because as soon as he returns his attention to her his mouth is covering hers, stealing her air. She moans against his lips, relishing his answering murmur and the feeling of his erection hard against her leg as she arches her back to press herself into him.

He feels so good... His skin is softer than she'd expected, and the sensation of his scar against her navel sends sparks through her. Laura sighs, scratching her nails lightly down his sides, gasping and tightening her grip when he lowers his mouth to her nipple.

He's so gentle with his hands that it makes her heart ache, and she's almost sure, then, that she can feel his pulse against her. She can certainly trace her own; it throbs at every point he's touching her. Dimly, she hears herself moan from the suckling tug on her breast.

"I want..." she gasps, and the smile on his face when he briefly lifts his head sends a trickle of heat between her thighs. He strokes her hip, smiling, eyes alight with love.

"What?" he asks, voice thick, "What do you want, Laura?" His hand slips lower, still following the stroking motion of before, and she whimpers, resisting the oncoming rush of orgasm as best she can. She wants him inside her the first time, tonight.

She can't talk, too far gone to spare enough breath for an answer, almost too far to think. Instead, she presses down on his shoulders, circling her hips up against his. He groans, and she thinks, dimly, that he's got the message. She gasps his name and pulls, shifting so one of her legs is around his waist.

_Please..._

He's agonisingly slow when he enters her, his face taut with trying to hold on to his control. She's sore all over from her workout, but it doesn't matter; it doesn't stop her tightening her thighs around his hips and making sounds of encouragement in the back of her throat. They couldn't be closer, but she wants him nearer still. He feels so very good, skin against skin...the sticky damp heat between them, the pungent scent of her own arousal and the musky tang of his sweat..._could I want you more than this?_

It's not long before she's drowned in him completely, knowing nothing but emotion and sensation. She could almost be floating, her heart is so light. He's talking softly, mumbled incoherent words of love and desire against her throat as he shifts in and out of her, teasing a nipple with one hand, and she pants, arching, legs entwined with his. The words aren't clear.

She's so near the edge, and her eyes fall shut as she gives in. Her body stiffening in one long curve, she lets him carry her over the cliff with a gentle finger and a series of quickening thrusts.

She cries his name raggedly and he follows, kissing her hard and pulling her against him so tightly it hurts. She can feel his teeth against her lips.

It's a good hurt, though.

Time passes, and Laura sighs, eyes closed, snuggling against Bill's shoulder where he's rolled off her, listening to his breathing begin to quiet. His fingers stroke her scalp, and she can imagine he'd be playing with the ends of her hair if he could.

It's all right. She can stand it. She's too drowsy and comfortable to be sad, here and now, wrapped in the cradle of his arms, warm and slippery and satiated.

"Love you," he speaks, his voice still weighted with the traces of arousal. She opens her eyes at leisure, gazing over at him, returning his grin with a slow one of her own and a nod, happy just to lie beside him and enjoy it. He already knows how she feels.

He shifts her just a bit, reaching to pull the blankets over the two of them. She smiles, making a happy noise and curling up next to him. He leans up on one elbow to kiss her lightly, and she buries her hand in his hair, pulling him down to deepen it. She only lets go when they're both breathless again; the look in his eyes is nothing short of beautiful.

They settle, slowly, exchanging languid kisses and caresses here and there for a while longer. He's still smiling when she delivers her last sleepy kiss to his chest, snuggling up to him beneath the covers.

Contentment, relaxation and the pleasant fatigue of the afterglow slide her slowly, blissfully into sleep.

It's been a long day, but a good one.


End file.
